


And desire is always cruel

by CabiriaMinerva



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Lizzington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CabiriaMinerva/pseuds/CabiriaMinerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Raymond Reddington had almost given in to his desire, but he loved her too much to lose control and let his feelings jeopardize her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And desire is always cruel

_For love is no part of the dreamworld._

_Love belongs to desire, and desire is always cruel._

Neil Gaiman, _Sandman_

  
  


I.

The first time he had feared things would get out of control, she had been unconscious, writhing under drugs that were meant to induce a half-comatose sleep. They were digging, trying to extrapolate the memories he had so carefully hidden deep inside of her. She had looked so vulnerable, so fragile, making noises that broke his heart. He had tried so hard to protect her, to avoid those terrible tears that were now staining her face.

He got closer – so close that her perfume tickled his nostril and her frantic breath almost got him goose bumps.

_Oh Lizzy, what have they done to you? What have_ I _done to you?_

He had fought with himself. Her swollen lips were so inviting and the temptation to press her to his chest, to keep her close and whisper all the sweet nothings just to make the hurt disappear... God, he had been so close, then.

She was vulnerable, fragile. She was lost in memories she should never have remembered – someone would later have paid for that. And he was just _that_ close to cover those lips with his own, to transform the pained noises in moans and sighs.

A cold shiver ran through his back. How sick and twisted was he, to think of _that_ in such a dreadful moment? Ignoring the nauseous feeling that came with the guilt, he slowly freed her from the machinery and gently stroked her face, waiting for her to come back to her senses.

«Help is on its way, Lizzy.» he whispered, more to himself than to her. «You are safe, now.»

She had whimpered at his voice.

  
  


II.

The second time, she had been very well awake, her newly dyed blond hair waving in the wind. Her life on the run had barely began, yet she already had something different in the way she looked at the world, the way she looked at him. Her blue eyes had opened wide when he had opened the door of the container, revealing that they were on a ship.

They had looked at the night sky, clean and calming.

He had said it. _You are my way home_. Now it was too late to take it back, but he’d hoped she wouldn’t draw too many conclusions from that. Or maybe that she did.

Oh, the way she had looked at him, then. As if it was the first time she'd ever seen him. As if he wasn't he man he was, the heinous criminal, the monster. Her face glowed with the tenderness of her smile – a true gift, in his eyes.

When the sea breeze had began to be a little too cold for her sleeveless blouse, she had mindlessly gotten closer to him. He had gulped down the remaining of his scotch, then had stretched an arm over her shoulders, lightly stroking her skin. «Are you cold?» When she had nodded, he couldn't help but hug her, pressing her closer to him.

She hadn't seemed to mind. On the contrary, she had snuggled against his shirt for a while before looking up, searching for his eyes. She had smiled. A soft, loving smile. His mouth had gone dry. Without even thinking, he had kissed her nose. A childish kiss, maybe, but he had felt it was already too much. Yet, she was still looking at him, almost as if waiting.

He had leaned over her, his breath tickling her cheeks, her lips. She hadn't moved, her eyes fixed on him.

_What are you doing, you foolish old man?_

After months he still wondered whether she had noticed the surprise flashing in his eyes as he stilled right before brushing his lips over hers. He had cleared his throat while distancing himself. «You must be exhausted, why don't you get some rest?»

She had entered the container with a cryptic expression on her face.

  
  


III.

The third time he had almost surrendered to his guilty desire, she had just been released, her name finally cleared.

He had been waiting for her outside the building for at least an hour, despite the cold night air and the cars speeding right in front of him. When she had appeared his heart had skipped a bit – just like a movie, he had thought when the bus had passed, revealing the woman standing on the pavement just behind it.

She had smiled and he had felt a now familiar warmth somewhere deep inside. She had walked towards him – to tell the truth, it had seemed an half run, but he was sure it had just been wishful thinking. Her eyes on him the all time, as if she was afraid that by looking away she would have awoken. Then she had throw her arms around his neck, hugging him, hanging on to him for dear life.

The relief he had felt was indescribable. He had dived his nose into her long hair, his fingers lightly stroking her back while also keeping her close.

Somewhere in his mind he knew that Dembe was waiting for them to decide what to do, but having her in his arms again... He had tightened the embrace and had felt her fingers digging into his coat. He heard a voice whispering her name, _Lizzy_ , and it took him a moment to realize that he was the one who had murmured it. She had made an infinitesimal movement, allowing him a better access to her neck. 

He had breathed her scent, there, his nose brushing over the thin skin. Maybe he had just imagined her sharply inhaling.

It would have been so easy to just move his face a little closer, to let her know – let her really know – the way she made him feel, the inner turmoil that only she could placate.

But he couldn't have done it. Not to her. She deserved so much more...

«We better go...» he had whispered, his lips millimetres away from her mouth.

She hadn't said a word while following him into the car.

  
  


IV.

The fourth time, she was pregnant. His heart had clenched in his chest when he had realized, even before she did. And now there they where, in the midst of a virtual storm – ah, poetic, wasn't it? As if both of their lives weren't already in a perpetual state of tempest...

She had thanked him, thanked him for saving Tom, for... he didn't know what for. And she had grabbed his hand, and god he wished she'd never let go. He had somehow  _apologized_ – yes, he, Raymond Reddington, apologizing for saying things that angered her, for being against Tom in her life, for leading her to think he thought she wouldn't survive that, for  _hurting her_ . Because all that mattered, at the end of the day, was that she was going to have her baby and explode with happiness. He was ready to tear apart the world for that to happen. 

She had leaned over, placing a lingering kiss on his cheek.

The way her lips had pressed against his skin, the light trembling he had sensed, her hand clinging to him...

God, he loved her and wanted to gently pull her closer, stop the trembling with his own lips over hers, plead for an amnesty for his aching heart.

But the problem was, that he loved her so much, he wouldn't do that. He'd let her go back to Tom, no matter how many times he had warned her. He'd wait for things to go down – for things were meant to go down when a men like that was involved – and then he'd be there for her and her child. But never like  _that._ Because he loved her too much.

She had lingered, but he hadn't held her, so she had soon left, her lips curved in what, surprisingly, seemed a sad smile, almost resigned.

  
  


V.

The fifth time, it had hurt. Hurt in a way he didn't imagined was even possible for a man who had lost everything that he had once held dear.

He had tried to stay away, tried to accept that she had made her choices. But how could he let her marry that fraud again? So he had arrived, almost without realizing it, to the church. She was in a room in the back, her hands nervously fixing her hair and checking some non existent wrinkles on her dress.

And she was beautiful.

The sight of her had made his heart clench, her mind running wild with wishes and childish fantasies in which he was the one she had dressed up for, the one trying to hold back the tears when hearing the fateful _yes_.

_I'm here to ask you, to implore you, please, don't do this._

He had seen something in her eyes, in that moment, something he wasn't quite sure how to decipher. Whatever that was, something inside of him had reacted with a silent roar, a fierce impulse to close the distance between them and hold her tight, feel the softness of her lips. The strength of that impulse almost frightened him.

But what was worst, was the tone of her voice when she had yelled, implored him to leave. It had been heartbreaking, but somehow it felt he wasn't the only one crumpling.

_Get out._

_I want you to go. Please?_

_I don't want you here._

He had left.

  
  


VI.

As soon as the door had closed behind Raymond Reddington, she had covered her face with her hands, letting go of the tears that only that man could make her shed.

She had waited for him to say something, to _do_ something for months. She couldn't exactly remember when or how it had started, but she could perfectly recall the first moment she had realized what the warmth of his smile, the sensation of being safe, the need for him to be there meant: they had been on a ship, looking at the stars, when she had acknowledged that she had _feelings_ for him. And when he had held her tight, gently stroking her skin, kissing her nose... her heart had skipped a beat. _He's going to kiss me._ And indeed he had leaned over, his eyes as serious as they could be. But then something must have happened, in that mind of his, because he had looked confused, almost guilty, and had suggested she'd rest. She had been disappointed, but had said nothing. _Hell, it took me enough time to realize what was going on, so maybe he needs some time as well._

The second time she had almost thought that was it, she had just been released from the courthouse. He had been waiting for her, of course. Still, seeing him leaning against the car, smiling at her... she had almost ran towards him, and when she had thrown her arms around his neck, it had seemed the most natural thing in the entire world. He had whispered her name and she had been afraid he'd hear her heart fluttering like an over-excited hummingbird. When he had plunged his nose in her hair, getting so close – oh, so so close – to her neck, she had held her breath, almost afraid the smallest noise would scare him away. That time it hadn't been just disappointment what she had felt when he had murmured  _we better go_ ... No, that time she had felt truly hurt. Still, she had said nothing.

Then, she had messed up. She had insulted herself when she had discovered she had become pregnant. By Tom. But when they had met at that strange museum his eyes had given her a glimmer of hope. Maybe not all was lost. And then she had felt bold, and maybe in need to redeem herself from the guilt of bearing Tom's child... and she had kissed him. Ok, maybe not  _that_ bold, for she had kissed him on the corner of his lips. But that sure would have been enough to let him know that she felt what he felt – because he must feel it too, right?  _That_ must've been what she had seen so many times, half-hidden in his eyes. When he hadn't reciprocate the sentiment she was putting in that cast kiss, when even after so many seconds his hands weren't already holding her, his lips weren't searching hers... she had felt defeated. But she had said nothing, because maybe she had been wrong, maybe... maybe she had ruined everything and he simply had given up on her.

With that knowledge in her heart – having ruined everything, having pushed him too much – she had simply taken what had come next and had decided to marry Tom (again), because if she couldn't get her happily ever after it didn't mean her little bean of joy had to suffer as well. So she had endured – literally, endured life, endured the nights crying herself to sleep, endured the feeling of loss. She had endured until she had somehow managed to convince herself that she was, indeed, going to be fine. 

And then he had crushed into the room in the back of the church,  _imploring_ her not to marry Tom. She couldn't help the glimmer of hope beginning to burn again. 

_Maybe... maybe I haven't lost him, maybe he hasn't given up on me._

_Please._

_Please give me a good reason to leave this church with you._

_I only need you to tell me I wasn't wrong, that what I feel isn't one-sided._

But of course Raymond Reddington wouldn't lower himself to that – she still wasn't sure if it was because he simply couldn't forgive her or if it was some twisted way to keep her safe... _from himself._ That much she had understood when she had become aware of how his words sounded like an excuse.

Still, they had hurt. And they had hurt not because of how truthful they were, but because, deep inside, she knew that he was purposefully avoiding to tell her what she wanted to hear from him. They had hurt, because rather than being completely honest – with her, but probably with himself as well – he had chosen to blabber some pretexts. As if she hadn't thought of them a million time.

_I'm telling you, no matter what you believe, Tom is not the man you think he is._

_You're attempting to build a life with a man who is fundamentally dishonest._

She had almost burst into laughter at that. Yes, wasn't it funny, to use Tom dishonesty to persuade her to call off the wedding when he was the first keeping things from her? 

But then he had brought her child into it. She would have accepted anything: a confession of his feelings as well as a declaration of his inability to forgive her for being the huge mess she was – which would still mean that, at some point, he  _had cared_ . Instead, he had chosen to intentionally hurting her by suggesting she would hurt her child, whose happiness was what was giving her the strength to endure her choice.

_Do you really want your child to pay the price for that mistake for the rest of his or her life?_

She had blinked. Once. Twice. Had he tore up her heart, she would have felt less pain.

_Get out._

If he was going to be that stubborn, that blind to her feelings towards him... Then she would oblige, as always. She would say nothing, leaving him the power to choose, as she had done before, hoping he would for once choose to be selfish, to forget the safest choice and to take the risk.

_I want you to go. Please?_

She had swallowed the words that were begging her to leave her lips, uttering instead what she thought would finally put an end to whatever was left unsaid, letting them be miserable apart, letting him go.

_I don't want you here._

 


End file.
